


Yuletide

by gryffindormischief



Series: Fresh Pickled Toad [60]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: Harry & Ginny are newlyweds and just want to have a 'merry' little Christmas.





	Yuletide

**Author's Note:**

> some canon hinny christmas fluff for your enjoyment! I hope you like! Also if you're reading it, we're close to posting the final chapter of kindle soon woo.

There's something magic about Covent Garden at Christmas, a lightness in the air unlike anything else.  Which is a bit of an odd thought for a wizard to have, but genuine nonetheless. 

That beautiful brightness is even more so when Ginny’s hand is tucked in his, her brown eyes alight with childish gaiety, laughter bubbly and warm enough to keep away the winter chill.

As the crowd presses on, Ginny tugs Harry toward a particularly magnificent window display with so many moving parts it's a wonder no magic holds it together.  Toy soldiers march in place while an antique toy train circles a little snow blanketed village. “That one in the back looks almost as stiff as Percy.”

Harry snorts, releasing his grip on Ginny's hand to slip his arm around her waist.  “You're incorrigible.”

Ginny hums.  “My wit is my brand.”

Her chilly nose presses against Harry's woolen scarf in search of warmth as he kisses Ginny's forehead. “So who've you got left?”

“Just Fleur - I'm working on it, but we're not quite close enough that I've just got ideas right off.”

“What's that perfume she wears?”

“Sniffing around, Harry?”

“I'm  _ trying _ to be helpful.”

Shoppers pile up impatiently around them so Harry guides Ginny further along the cobbled street, gesturing toward a swanky looking little shop with ornate bottles in the window and a French looking name Harry's only half sure how to pronounce.  But it looks like the empty bottles Victoire smuggled out of Shell Cottage to play house with Teddy. 

“Look, they've got a gift basket.”

“At least I know she'll like it better than Mum’s scarf.”

They slip inside the gilded store, soothing string music playing softly - a stark contrast to the tiny carols and gleeful shouts that fill the air just outside the shimmering glass door - and slowly wander around the luxe aisles.

Before long, they decide on a skincare gift set and Ginny smirks as they complete the purchase.  “She hardly needs any help being gorgeous.”

Harry shrugs and passes the gift wrapped package over to Ginny.  “It's about the luxury, or so the adverts say.”

“Look at you all sensitive to ladies’ feelings.”

“Anyway, who's left for you - I can't decide what to buy your mum.”

“Just let her cut your hair.”

“I thought you liked it,” Harry muses, toying with the curls that just brush his scarf as the duo make their way back into the fray.

Rising up on her tiptoes, Ginny runs her fingers through his hair and tugs him down close so their lips just brush.  “ _ I _ do.  Mum says you've been corrupted by Bill.”

Mindful of the pressing crowds, Harry glances around and tugs Ginny into a little alcove, his arms banding around the sway of her waist.  “I'll brave Molly Weasley’s wrath if it has you looking at me like that.”

Ginny’s lips find his, their kiss cutting off just before it can be called ‘indecent’, and Harry tucks her against his chest.  “Was that  _ my  _ Christmas gift?”

“A preview,” Ginny chuckles, pulling away and guiding them back to the milling shoppers.  

Groaning, Harry playfully puts up a fight, trying to halt their progress, but Ginny plows ahead.  

“Can’t we stay  _ here _ ?”

“Too much to do.”

Harry jogs to catch up and murmurs, “It was so  _ nice  _ there.  We were snogging and I wasn’t thinking about disappointing your mum for Christmas.”

With a scowl, Ginny comes to an abrupt stop - which earns her a glare from the man who’s jumper says ‘Jolly Jolly’ but his face says ‘homicide’ - and jabs at Harry’s chest.  “You, sir, are not a disappointment, and Mum doesn’t need some fancy something or other. We love  _ you _ , the gifts don’t matter,” she pauses, “Except mine has to be better than Ron’s.”

“Of course.”

“Well, now that we’ve covered that, let’s check out that housewares store, eh?  Mum needs new bakeware.”

* * *

 

The final weeks before Christmas pass in a flurry of shopping, snow, and sweets, until it’s just days before and Hermione’s got the whole brood riled up and ready to spread ‘Christmas cheer’ with song. 

Harry’s resigned himself to go along with the whole scheme while Ginny’s apparently decided to do some scheming of her own if that glint in her eye can be trusted.  The gathered Weasleys and Grangers - all together including ever-wandering Charlie - tromp down the faery-lit street, bellies full with Mrs. Granger’s signature hot cocoa.

Harry follows along at the back of the group, hoping his relatively quiet singing will go unnoticed, until an invisible something wraps around his middle and his yelp is muffled by a pile of silky fabric.  “ _ Don’t make a sound _ .”

“Don’t sneak-attack a trained auror,” Harry shoots back, but relaxes as that familiar flowery scent envelops him, even drowning out the crisp clean smell of snow that blankets the peaceful little neighborhood.

Eyes darting toward their group as the first neighbor opens the door wide, Harry murmurs, “What’s the plan here?”

“Up for a bit of mischief?”

“What kind?”

Her breath puffs against his neck.  “Does it matter?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve singing to strangers, no,” Harry chuckles, following Ginny’s lead as she guides him back toward the Granger’s house and whispers a quiet  _ Alohamora _ .

“I am not shagging in this house.”

“How about our flat?” Ginny offers, tipping back the hood of the pilfered invisibility cloak with a salacious grin as she raises her wand, ready to twist them off into the night.

Only she doesn’t.  She tries again, and a third time, before Harry chuckles.  “Performance anxiety.”

“Are you kidding?  Harpies eat stress for breakfast.”

Harry waits, smile teasing, until Ginny relents with a nod.  A little too arrogantly, Harry tugs his wand free from its holster and twists on his heel, free arm banded around Ginny’s invisible waist.  When his eyes re-open, they land with a thud on the braided rug in front of...the Granger’s unlit fireplace. Ginny groans as her head falls back against the carpet.  “Hermione.”

“Of course she threw up wards around the house.”

“Guess we’ll have to make do,” Ginny sighs.

“Do you have any idea the rug burns we’d get?”

Ginny quirks a brow, “If you do, then I do.  Unless you’re keeping some illicit past from me.”

Chuckles bubble up Harry’s chest as he rolls off of Ginny, arms and legs akimbo.  

After a moment, she tucks herself into his chest.  “We  _ could  _ go on a romantic stroll beneath the crisp sky and - ”

“A centuries old cloak?”

Ginny hums.  “And maybe find out where that ward ends?”

“Brilliant witch, you are.”

Snatching Ginny’s purse from the front room, they slip out into the back garden and wander down the street in the opposite direction of their warbling family, Ginny held close against Harry’s front.

Their boots leave prints in the freshly fallen snow, hopefully soon to be covered up by the new flurries that flit down from the moonlit sky.  About halfway down the block, Ginny comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face Harry. “Can you not?”

His mind whirs, trying to figure exactly what he needs to ‘not’, but comes up empty.  “Not?”

“You’re all toasty and squeezing me with your wiry little arms - “

“Little?” Harry scoffs, but Ginny plows ahead, “And your minty smelling breath from those bloody candy canes all hot on my neck - ”

Harry cuts her off with a warm press of his mouth over hers, nipping at her full lips as she surges forward and her arms wrap around his neck, their calves long since exposed to watchful eyes.

But, distracted as he is, it takes Harry’s mind a moment or two, or ten, to realize, and Ginny’s already got his coat unbuttoned and her hands worked past the hem of his jumper.  “We’re - ah - visible, Gin.”

Ginny pulls away, cheeks flushed from more than just cold and lips red as she resumes her exploration of his jaw.  “Who’s looking?”

“Hm, I dunno, maybe a dozen or so Weasleys and a couple of Grangers?” Harry drawls, even as his hands seek the warmth - and other things - of Ginny’s trouser pockets, drawing her in closer with a groan muffled against her hair.

“They’ll never find us here - ”

“Oh won’t we?”

And although his initial instinct is to release Ginny immediately he realizes she would end up arse first in a snow drift  _ and  _ he’d be left with some rather obvious physical side effects of their snog regardless.  So he drags her in for one last kiss, they share a wry grin, before whipping the cloak from over their heads to face whatever reconnaissance team has tracked them down.

“Mrs. - Molly,” Harry chokes out, resigned to having used up his death defying miracles early in life, “We - uh.”

Ginny licks her lips - which is really  _ too _ enticing for mixed company - and squares her shoulders.  “Harry’s been on more than he’s been off.”

George snorts and elbows Ron, murmuring, “Well  _ something’s _ on.”

Harry drags Ginny in front of his chest and sends a scowl George’s way, mouthing a menacing,  _ Later _ .

“And he’s my damn  _ husband  _ and I wanted a good s- ”

Harry clears his throat, wondering if this is how he’ll die - mere days before Christmas, in a quaint Muggle neighborhood, smothered by Molly Weasley’s disapproving stare.  Ginny pauses, but takes his subtle request to heart and amends, “Snog. And we’re not sorry.”

Snow continues to fall around them, settling on Molly’s shoulders while she stands still as a statue, brow raised higher than Harry thought possible.  And then her gaze zeroes in on Harry’s, his mouth going dry as he grinds out, “I - uh. We bought you a new set of cookware?”

Ginny’s head droops as Ron and George high-five and Mr. Granger shrinks in on himself, seeming to wish he’d chosen the other search party.  But the biggest surprise of all is the twitch of Molly Weasley’s lip, the laughter dancing in her eyes as she takes in the whole messy tableau of her daughter and son-in-law halfway to shagging in a snow drift.  “I’ll expect it to be nicely wrapped. And no shagging on Christmas.”

Ron and George’s grins drop and Harry feels some tension leave his shoulders, even as his confusion rises.  “You’re not - ”

“Go on - I do have seven children,” Molly starts, her voice not even faltering as she says the number, they’re hers, always, “I know how it works.”

Ron grimaces.  “Ew.”

“Thanks for that picture, Mum,” George agrees, while Mr. Granger studiously takes in the falling snow.

“Get out of here before Hermione comes and cuffs you.”

George barks out a laugh.  “Kinky.”

“Enough, George Fabian, we’ve got carols to sing,” Molly chides, already shooing her little group down the street like a clutch of chicks.

“What about Gin and Harry?  How come they get out of singing?”

“Buy me a new sofa and we’ll see about it,” Molly fires back without a moment’s hesitation.

As they disappear down the lane, Ginny turns to Harry, already dragging him down the sidewalk, snow crunching beneath their boots, “Let’s be off.  Mum’s clearly gone mad temporarily and I don’t want to miss our chance.”

“Lead the way, my fiery temptress.”

She pauses and leans up for a kiss, the glow of the moon giving her a silvery, otherworldly feel even as her teasing cheekiness continues.  “I like it. Now come on, there’s a furry little rug and a cozy fireplace calling our name.”

“As you wish.”


End file.
